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By Root 974 0

about those people. I earned my acceptance, and if they don’t like it, too bad. I thanked her for comforting me and went on to Ms. G’s class. On my way there I ran into one of my former teachers and told her my great news. With a blank face she said, “That’s amazing, because you know there’s no more Affirmative Action.” I thought to myself, “If I were white I would have been congratulated, because getting into college is what I’m supposed to do. If I were Asian her reaction would have been ‘Well, of course you got in. You’re super smart.’ Yet because I’m black or even if I were Latino it’s ‘amazing’ for me to have gotten into a school like UCLA.” I couldn’t believe she was saying this to me. I may have understood, and even joined her in amazement, if I’d done poorly in her class, but I’d always done really well.

When I got to class and told Ms. G about my acceptance she made this huge announcement in front of the whole class. All the Freedom Writers started cheering and rushed over to hug me. They were so happy I thought they were the ones that got in. My best friend, also a Freedom Writer, wrote it on the chalkboard, so all the Freedom Writers would know. So all throughout the day Freedom Writers were hugging me and saying how proud of me they were. It was crazy, but I loved it. Like any family, the Freedom Writers shared in my joy. My accomplishment was now our accomplishment.

Diary 134

Dear Diary.

Graduation is just around the corner and I feel like this fake smile has molded into my skin. I am torn between happiness and sadness, like something has got a hold of my heart and is pulling it in two different directions. No matter which way I go, it seems like the other side is tugging harder.

My heart stops beating every time I hear someone mention where they are going to school, or how excited they are because they have just been accepted to their first choice in universities. I feel like my heart is tied in a knot that won’t let it beat freely. I am enormously happy to see so many Freedom Writers excited and anxious to go off to college, but don’t they realize what leaving means? Am I the only one who is afraid of what is about to happen?

I feel so selfish. I wish I could rewind the clock, but I know that’s impossible. I can’t seem to wash away this feeling of déjà vu as I think of my Freedom Writer family leaving me; this family that has always made me feel at home. I feel like it’s almost gone, and I pray that it’s not for good.

When I think of the Freedom Writers separating to start their new college life, my heart starts beating fast. Faster and faster, so that I have to put my arms across my chest because it feels like it’s going to burst out of my rib cage. As I have my arms across my chest and I feel my heart going a thousand miles an hour inside of me, I start drifting into a memory that I have tried to forget.

I start remembering that night in my horribly ugly pink room. I heard arguing in my parents’ bedroom. The sound was unfamiliar to me, since my parents never argued. Maybe they did argue, but not in my presence. Then I heard heavy footsteps. Afraid, I ran out of my room, just in time to crash into my father, who would later only be known as “that man.” “What’s wrong? What is happening?” I asked. Hoping I would understand if he answered me. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just going to the bathroom. Go back to bed—it’s late!”

As I sat in my room, I heard a door slam, the front door. I ran to the bathroom and found it empty. At the tender age of four, I knew my father was gone from my life for good. I don’t know why, but I just had a feeling that I’d never see him again. And I haven’t.

As I sit here hugging myself, I find myself with the same exact feeling as when I was four. I am dreading the day I will have to let the Freedom Writers go. I don’t want to look back one day and think of the Freedom Writers as “them” or “that group.” I don’t want us to part. As my heartbeat decreases and that knot that encloses my heart loosens, I think that maybe, just maybe, everything will be all right. After all,